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fv> 







A WASTREL REDEEMED 


THE RENAISSANCE BOOKLETS. 

Each \ 6 mo, illustrated. Leatherette boards, decorated in 
artistic style, 30 cetits. 

hi this most aptly named series 0/ attractive booklets, the 
purpose is to shozv the “ neiv life" that can be imparted from 
one to another by loving, helpful deeds and the revivifying, re- 
newing power upon an individual of a truth fully realized and 
acted upon. 

In BROTHER LA IV REN CE this is shown hy the 
inspiring practice of realising the constant pres- 
ence of God. This little hook consists of conversa- 
tions had with, and letters written by, a recluse 
of the seventeenth century, a wholly consecrated 
man. 

A DAY’S TIME-TABLE, by E. S. Elliot, author 
of Expectation Corner,” is the story of one day 
in the life of a young girl shut in by delicate health 
from the pleasures and duties of her more active 
sisters. The little opportunities of one day, ac- 
cepted and used as direct duties assigned, open 
her eyes to the extent of her powers of usefulness, 
and lead her to a wider exercise of her faculties. 

A IVASTREL REDEEMED, by David Lyall, is a 
Scottish tale of a young man’s wasted opportu- 
nities, of strong characters in conflict, and of the 
redeeming power of love and faith. It is well and 
forcibly told. The author belongs to the school 
of Ian MacLaren and S. R. Crockett. 

COMFORT PEASE AND HER GOLD RING is 
a New England story, by Mary E. IVilkins, and 
tells of a little girl’s disobedience, and how the 
struggle of conscience ended in victory. There is 
a lesson here for old and young alike. 

MY LITTLE BOY BLUE, by Rosa Nouchette Carey, 
is a pretty story of help extended by a family of 
young folks to a little, friendless foreign lad of 
talent, and how his life was changed in conse- 
quence, and theirs broadened. 

THE SIVISS GUIDE, by Dr. C. H. Parkhurst, is 
already known to many. It is a beautiful little 
allegory, and depicts in inimitable style the strength 
and peace insured by a faith-illumined life. 


FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY, Publishers. 




c 







% 


A Wastrel Redeemed 


By 


David Lyall 

juAq- 


** After many Day^ 





Fleming H. Revell Cdmpa7iy 
New- York Chicago Toronto 


MDCCCXCV 


r 






Copyright, 1895, 
by 

Fleming H. Revell Company, 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


About four o’clock on a winter afternoon a 
middle-aged countrywoman alighted from a 
south-coming train in the Waverley Station at 
Edinburgh, and after looking about her with a 
slight expectancy, for which she immediately re- 
buked herself, walked briskly toward the long, 
weary ascent of steps leading up to Prince’s 
Street. She was a somewhat striking figure 
among many that were commonplace, her attire 
and appearance being foreign to city streets and 
a little out of place thereon. She was very tall, 
and carried herself erectly, and with a certain 
dignity and grace of the more rugged order. 
Her gown was of stone-gray alpaca, fully fash- 
ioned, the bodice gathered at the waist. On the 
breast a white lawn neckerchief was held in soft 
folds by a large brooch composed of hair cun- 
ningly intertwined and set in massive gold. It 
was not a beautiful ornament, but it was more 
precious than rubies to the woman who wore it. 
Each tiny lock she had removed with her own 
5 


6 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


hands from the heads of those she loved and 
whom God had taken ; and the wearing of that 
simple memento comforted her, giving to her 
wounded heart some nearness to those who had 
gone away. An ample cloak of black woolen 
material, plainly made, hung well over her gown, 
and her bonnet was of black lace with a lilac 
flower, and old-fashioned lappets tied over the 
ears. She carried a basket, such as is used for 
carrying market produce in the country, and she 
was not ashamed of it, though it provoked a smile 
on some lips as she passed. She was serenely 
unconscious of scrutiny or criticism, and moved 
like a person whose position is assured, and who 
therefore can be careless of vulgar comment. 
The face, if of a homely type, was yet striking in 
its way, by reason of its fresh, ruddy, wholesome 
color and its serene and beautiful expression. 
Strength, sweetness, and absolute sincerity were 
marked on every feature; seen even in a crowd, 
it was a face to be noted and remembered. It 
wore at that moment a singularly troubled look ; 
indeed, anxiety of the cruelest and most wither- 
ing sort was gnawing at the woman’s heart. 
Arrived, somewhat breathless after the long 
ascent, she looked about her in a half-troubled 
way, which attracted the attention of a well- 
disposed policeman, who had his eye on sundry 
imps who were selling vestas and papers, and 


A JVASTREL REDEEMED 


otherwise doing their best to hinder and annoy 
passengers going to and from the station. 

“Can I dae onything for ye, mistress?” he 
inquired. And the kindly word brought a sud- 
den smile to her face which the man long remem- 
bered. 

“ Maybe ye could direck me, my man, to 
Drumphail Street. I’m seekin’ the hoose o’ the 
Reverend Neil Denham, Free Kirk minister there. 
D’ye happen to ken it? ” 

“I ken Drumphail Street; it’s easy to get; 
keep richt doon frae St. Andrew’s Square, an’ 
onybody’ll tell ye.” 

“ Thenk ye kindly.” 

She picked her way at a little trot across the 
muddy street. It had been a wet, miserable 
morning, and even yet the nipping air and leaden 
sky threatened more rain. The policeman watched 
to see that she took the right turning, and he 
continued to speculate about her till something 
else occurred to take his attention. The woman 
continued her course somewhat dully, as if not 
interested in what she saw. A close observer 
would have detected in her a gradually increasing 
nervousness as she approached her destination. 
It was visible in the number of times she changed 
her basket from one arm to another, and in a 
curious twitching of the generally firm, well- 
balanced mouth. At length she reached the 


8 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


house, a plain, unpretentious family abode, where 
the shining brasses and the spotless white curtains 
spoke of the careful and capable housewife. A 
neat but very young servant opened the door, 
and when asked for Mrs. Denham, replied that 
her mistress was in, though just going out. 

Mrs. Denham herself, hearing the voice, came 
out of the dining-room, and at sight of the figure 
on the doorstep gave a little cry. 

“O Lizzie, Lizzie Gray, is it really you?” 

There was a little catch, almost like a sob, in 
her breath, and she caught the stranger by her 
two hands and drew her within the door. There 
was no doubt about that welcome ; it came 
straight and warm and sweet from the heart of 
the minister’s wife. 

“Yes, it’s me, Mary, and fell gled am I to see 
a kent face.” 

“ Neil is out. I was just going myself to a 
zenana meeting in Melville Street, but I’ll send 
Nellie with a note of apology. Come in, come 
in.” 

She drew her into the warm, cozy, fire-lit 
study, and setting her down in the minister’s own 
chair, unfastened her cloak and her bonnet-strings 
with kindly hands. In all this there was a ner- 
vous haste of movement which indicated some 
deeper feeling than surprise and joy over an 
unexpected meeting with an old and dear friend. 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


9 


Mrs. Denham was a little plump woman, with a 
neat, well-developed figure, a round, chubby, 
sensible face, merry eyes, and wavy black hair; 
a pleasant person to look at and still pleasanter 
to know. 

“ Dinna bide frae your meetin’ for me, Mary,” 
Mrs. Gray protested. “ I only want a rest and 
a cup o’ tea ; that the maid can gie me. Then I 
maun to Archibald Place to see Bob.” 

” If you think I am going to leave you like 
this, you’re mistaken, that’s all,” said Mrs. Den- 
ham, promptly. ‘‘ Why, Lizzie, Lizzie Gray, do 
you know this is positively the first time I’ve had 
you in my very own house, and am I going to 
set you aside like a stranger? Not likely!” 

“ I wudna hae been here the day, Mary, but 
for the letter ye wrote. I got it this morning.” 

Mrs. Denham’s lips twitched. Very well she 
knew what had brought her friend to Edinburgh. 

I never had a harder task than to write that 
letter, Lizzie ; but we’ll talk about it after. 
How’s Mr. Gray ? ” 

” He’s week He was awa to Tam Cairns’s 
roup at Pittencree afore the postman cam this 
mornin’, an’ it was as week Noo tell me hoo 
long it is sin ye suspeckit first that Bob was get- 
tin’ into ill company.” 

She folded her hands in her lap and looked 
very straightly into Mary Denham’s face, and her 


10 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


eyes had the hunger of an anxious mother’s heart 
in them. 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, we were very 
anxious last winter, and toward the end of the 
session he came very little to our house. He has 
only been once since this session opened, and 
then he looked rather out of sorts. But it was 
things Neil heard outside that vexed us most; 
and after thinking over it long, and praying, we 
decided to write.” 

“ It was a Christian act. What things did Mr. 
Denham hear outside?” 

Mrs. Denham was not surprised at the ques- 
tion. She had not known Elizabeth Gray all her 
days for nothing. The whole truth and nothing 
but the truth would satisfy that brave, sincere, 
and well-balanced mind. 

” A good deal, dear ; but you mustn’t lay it 
too much to heart. Bad companions are at the 
bottom of it. He’s lodging with a very dissipated, 
idle fellow, who has led him off his feet. You 
know what Bob is — how warm-hearted and gen- 
erous, and full of fun. Then he is so fond of 
you. I am sure, after you have had a talk with 
him, he’ll mend. That’s why Neil and I thought 
we’d better write, for of course he resented what 
we said.” 

“Ye have spoken, then?” 

“ Oh yes, a good many times,” said Mary, 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


11 


coloring a little. “ You did not expect we would 
look on at a lad we loved drifting so sadly with- 
out trying to help him ? Mr. Denham paid a fine 
for him at the police court last Monday morning.” 

Ashen pale grew the face of Elizabeth Gray, 
and her strong hands trembled on her knee. 

“A fine! What for?” 

” He had been at the theater Saturday night, 
and had taken too much drink, and there was a 
row in the gallery. Several youths were appre- 
hended, Bob among them, though I believe he 
had nothing to do with it. He was locked up 
over Sunday, and fined on Monday morning at 
the court.” 

It cost Mrs. Denham no small effort to state 
these unvarnished facts, but she knew the woman 
with whom she had to deal. 

” I was in the kirk on the Sabbath day jalous- 
ing naethin’, Mary,” she said, with a wan, wintry 
smile, ‘'and my ain bairn in the jail. Ye are 
best aff the day that has nae bairn, guid or bad.” 

Mrs. Denham got up and knelt on the hearth- 
rug before her friend, looking up into her drawn 
face, her eyes wet with sympathetic tears. 

“ Lizzie, don’t give up. You’ll save Bob yet 
Yotir son will never be a castaway.” 

She shook her head and sank wearily back in 
the chair. 

” I hae been uplifted, Mary, because my lad 


12 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


had mair pairts than the lave. It is the Lord’s 
way o’ rebukin’ sinfu’ pride.” 

” No such thing,” contradicted the minister’s 
bright little wife. I know enough of theology 
to contradict that. Just wait till Neil comes in, 
and he’ll set you straight on that point.” 

“ I think I’ll no wait, Mary. I’ll gang ower 
afore darkenin’ an’ see Bob. I’ll see Mr. Den- 
ham at nicht, if it be convenient for me to sleep 
here.” 

Mrs. Denham looked sorrowfully at her friend. 
This meek, half-apologetic demeanor was so un- 
like Lizbeth Gray’s ordinary bearing that it 
troubled her. 

Wouldn’t you like Neil to go with you, or 
me? I could wait outside.” 

No, I’d readier be mysel, Mary. Ye needna 
fret; I’ll no get lost.” 

“ Oh, I’m not afraid of that. It’s after five 
now, and quite dark. Shall I send for a cab?” 

“ If ye wad. I’m tired, Mary, an’ the streets 
confuse me. Yes, I’ll tak a cab.” 

So uneasy did Mrs. Denham feel after she had 
watched the cab drive away that she was thank- 
ful for her husband’s return about six o’clock. 

He came into the study flushed with his brisk 
walk from the Old Town ; but directly he sat down 
the treacherous color faded. His face was too 
pale for health or comeliness, though the features 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


13 


were very fine and regular, his black eyes liquid 
and keen. It was the face of a student, the brow 
indicating intellectual gifts of the highest order. 
He was a power in the pulpit to which he had 
been called, and one of the shining lights of the 
church to which he belonged. His ministry was 
valuable, it was said, especially to the young, and 
he had a great following of young men at all his 
services. He had the reticent manner and unde- 
monstrative demeanor of the student, and he did 
not make a companion of his wife; yet they 
seemed happy enough, and she content. The 
happy-hearted, sound-minded little country- 
woman had set him on a pedestal, and worshiped 
him perhaps a little too far off. In her eyes his 
character was without a flaw. 

“ O Neil,” she cried, breathlessly, “ Lizzie is 
here — Mrs. Gray, I mean — and she has gone 
away over to see Bob.” 

” Well, and what does she say? Did your 
letter give the shock we feared?” 

‘‘ Well, I hardly know. She has got a heavy 
blow, of course — any one can see that ; but 
somehow I don’t think she was so surprised as 
we thought. Not want any tea? Have you had 
it?” 

Yes.” 

Where?” 

” At Mrs. Hamilton’s,” he answered. “ I met 


14 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


her just as we left the Flail. She was driving. 
Macmillan was with me, and she took us both 
back to tea.” 

“ Oh, that was very nice. Fm worried about 
poor Lizzie, and I hope Bob won’t behave badly 
to her. I have forebodings. He is fit for any- 
thing. I told her about the fine, because I 
wanted her to have some idea of how bad he 
really is.” 

“It was wise, perhaps,” replied the minister; 
but his tone betrayed a waning interest. “ Mrs. 
Hamilton said you were not at the meeting.” 

“ No. I couldn’t leave Lizzie, of course. I 
never saw such a man as you — a perfect wizard ; 
you hear everything outside.” She spoke merrily 
and archly, and a slight smile quivered round her 
bonny mouth. 

Meanwhile the heavy four-wheeled cab trun- 
dled slowly up the steep ascent from the north 
side to Archibald Place. Six o’clock pealed from 
St. Giles’s as Mrs. Gray alighted from it. She 
paid the cabman and dismissed him, expecting to 
be an hour or two with her boy. He lived in the 
top flat of one of the highest houses, but his 
mother climbed bravely up, though she leaned 
up against the wall to recover her breath before 
she rang the bell. A girl of fourteen opened the 
door, and signified that Robert Gra}^ was within. 

“ I’m his mother; ye needna tell him/’ said 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


15 


Mrs. Gray, remembering the day she had brought 
him first to his lodgings, much concerned for his 
bodily welfare therein. The sitting-room opened 
off the lobby, directly opposite the outer door. 
Mrs. Gray put her umbrella on the stand and 
walked in without any preliminary knock, expect- 
ing to find Bob at his tea, or maybe at his books. 
The room was well lighted by a threefold gase- 
lier, but the air was thick with tobacco-smoke. 
A round table stood in the middle, and three 
young men sat at it playing cards. A whisky- 
bottle stood suggestively on the little chiffonnier ; 
one of the lads had a tumbler of whisky and 
water at his elbow. It was a striking scene, and 
the face of one was a study. He was a big, 
ruddy-faced chap, more like a farmer than a 
student, and his face could not be said to look 
particularly pleasant at the moment. 

“ Hulloa, mother!” he said, gruffly. “What 
brings you here? Why can’t they come in 
decently and say I am wanted? ” 

Mrs. Gray looked round her dazedly. Anger, 
disgust, confusion, were on her son’s face and in 
his voice. His two comrades winked to each 
other, and one rose. 

“ We’d better shove, Jimmy,” said one. 

“No, you needn’t; sit down,” said Bob Gray, 
still angrily, and eying the homely figure of his 
mother with shame. Never had she looked more 


16 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


like her own dairy and farmyard ; he could not 
see beyond the short, quaint gown, the clumsy 
cloak, the bonnet of last year’s pattern. 

“ Come into the bedroom a minute. — Excuse 
me, boys; I won’t keep you. Just go on till I 
come back.” 

He took his mother with no particular gentle- 
ness by the arm and banged the door. Opening 
an adjoining one, he led her in. 

When did you come?” he asked, more 
courteously. “Why didn’t you write, and I’d 
have been ready for you ? Of course you think 
it’s awful to see these fellows. It’s only Farquhar 
— he’s Lord Cobham’s nephew, and lodges down- 
stairs ; and we weren’t playing for money [which 
was a lie]. Won’t you sit down?” 

Mrs. Gray sat down, but her tongue was not 
loosed. Her son regarded her uneasily. At 
home the silence of the mistress of Stanerigg was 
much more regarded than her speech. 

“Where are you staying? — at the Denhams’, 
I suppose; and they’ve been stuffing you with 
lies about me. He’s a sneak, always watching 
me. I couldn’t stand it, really ; but if he’s been 
at it again. I’ll be even with him.” 

“Wheesht! ” 

The sound was so sharp and so full of intoler- 
able anguish that he looked at her guiltily. Once 
he had adored his mother, but now she stood to 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


17 


him in the light of a judge and an avenger, to be 
conciliated and pacified at any cost, but not be- 
loved. 

'' ril tell you what. I’ll go and shunt these 
fellows, and then we can have a jolly good talk. 
I’m sure I can make everything straight to you, 
if you’ll only take my word, and not that of that 
canting sneak Denham. Ugh! I can’t stand him 
at any price.” 

Delighted with his own cleverness at seeing a 
way out of the dilemma, he abruptly left the 
room. No sooner had his mother heard the clos- 
ing of the second door than she rose, and with 
great haste slipped out into the lobby, took up 
her umbrella, and left the house, hastening down 
the stairs as if pursued. She chose a different 
way, which brought her out into the green, open 
space of the meadows, and there under a tree she 
found a seat. Her limbs were trembling, her 
whole body felt numb and weak. She was glad 
to sink down, and to rest there till some strength 
should return to her. The chill mists of the day 
had disappeared, and the sky was now soft and 
clear above her as in April. Many stars were 
shining, and a young, faint moon showing shyly 
behind the ghostly branches of the trees. She 
was away from the din; peace was round about 
her, everywhere save within. She had seen — 
aye, and fully understood — the look in the eyes 


18 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


of the boy she had nursed at her breast, who had 
been the child of many prayers. She was but a 
plain countrywoman, but her eyes were sharp- 
ened to keenness, her judgment did not err. 

The great buttresses of the Infirmary stood 
out behind the gaunt trees, and she wondered 
vaguely whether any within suffered as keenly 
as she. Last night she had gone to her bed a 
happy mother, praying for her son ere she slept 
— the son she had dedicated from his birth to the 
service of the Lord. 

And lo! he was a castaway. 

For the moment hope had folded her wings 
afar, and had no message for that stricken soul. 
She sat a long time, unconscious of the chill 
evening air, of the scrutiny of the chance passers- 
by, who knew not that a human soul near them 
was passing its first hour in Gethsemane. 

Her thoughts, ever inclined Godward, took 
comfort, after long numbness, in certain words of 
the Book she loved : 

Peter went out, and denied Him thrice.” So 
her son, not by word, but by his look, had denied 
her. 

A strange, sweet sense of kinship with the 
crucified but now risen Saviour fell upon her 
wounded heart like balm, and prayer became 
once more possible to her. 

These were the words of her prayer : 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


39 


“ Lord, if I bena unworthy, gie me the bairn’s 
soul, an’ show me the way to win it, for Jesus’ 
sake.” 

Mrs. Gray went home next day, which was 
Saturday. An anxious mother had undertaken 
the journey from Faulds ; a hopeless one returned. 
She had made no further attempt to see her son; 
and he arrived at the Denhams’ house to find 
that she had left by the forenoon train. Her 
chief concern was to get back to the peace of her 
own home, to find in familiar things some solace 
for her heart. From the boy’s father she expected 
no sympathy. His condemnation would be swift, 
relentless. 

And yet she longed to tell him, and so share 
her pain. She had said so little to the Denhams 
that they really knew nothing of what had hap- 
pened. It was high noon when she stepped out 
at the wayside station and climbed the hilly street 
of the little village. It was ugly, yet not unpic- 
turesque, and the landscape round, sylvan and 
lovely, redeemed it from the commonplace. She 
remembered that it was Saturday, and gave some 
orders at the shops, answering the neighborly 
queries with calm unconcern, and then set out to 
walk to her home. The distance was three miles, 
and the road uphill all the way. But a black 
frost held the ground firmly, and walking was 
smooth and comfortable. The mistress of Stane- 


20 


A IVASJREL REDEEMED 


rigg was strong and active; a three-mile walk 
was nothing to her. Nay, she was glad of it that 
bitter day; it gave her space, quiet, room to 
breathe. She thought of many things as she 
walked, but mostly of the days when Bob had 
been a little chap, or a bairn at her breast. 
Vividly before her was that June day when they 
had driven the old mare, then in the pride of her 
days, proudly in a new gig to the parish kirk for 
the christening. 

Between the black hedgerows she trudged 
steadily, her mouth kept sternly shut to still its 
pitiful quiver ; and when she turned in at the gate 
and saw her own home set on a hill, the faint 
wintry sunshine making some radiance on the 
windows, the tears rolled down her cheeks. It 
was now half-past one, and the farmer of Stane- 
rigg, having had his early dinner, turned out to 
the stables to see the horses yoked to the plow. 
Recognizing the solitary figure far down the road, 
he set out to meet it with a certain curiosity not 
unmingled with apprehension. When he re- 
turned from the Pittencree roup at darkening the 
previous day he had been told by the maid that 
his wife had gone to Edinburgh on account of a 
letter she had received from Mrs. Denham. He 
had not connected this in any way with his son, 
and it was only now that a vague foreboding 
visited him. He met her about a hundred yards 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 

from the wicket-gate which led through the little 
wood to the houSe; and he saw that she was 
weary and troubled in her mind. 

“Ye’re tired, Lizbeth,” he said, taking her 
basket, now much lightened. “ What for did ye 
no hire frae Geordie Allan? It wasna for you 
walkin’ a’ the way up, perfectly needless, as ye 
ken.” 

“ I wantit to walk,” she said. And her eyes 
regarded him with a strange yearning which puz- 
zled him. 

Robert Gray was a large, strong, sinewy per- 
son, with a long, big-featured face, gray whiskers, 
and a clean-shaven chin, which showed strength 
of character and an indomitable will. Upright- 
ness, honesty of purpose, absolute integrity, were 
written on his face, but it lacked the softer out- 
line ; in his nature, indeed, tenderness had little 
part. 

“What took ye awa sae sudden?” he asked. 
“ Is Mrs. Denham no weel?” 

“ They’re baith weel. Wait or we get in, 
faither, and I’ll tell ye what took me.” 

He opened the wicket-gate for her silently, 
and they passed through into the shadow of the 
wood. The trees were quite bare, and there was 
a soughing wind through them, only heard in the 
month of November. Those who have lived long 
near the heart of nature can discern all the wind 


22 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


voices, and know the tone, which changes with 
each season. 

Stanerigg, belying its name, stood snugly in 
the shelter of this wood, but was open in front, a 
grassy lawn sloping to a high thorn-hedge which 
bounded its fields, now all upturned by the plow. 
A wide span of open country, rich, fertile, and 
diversified, stretched toward the sea, forming one 
of the most beautiful prospects and one of the 
richest agricultural districts in the south of Scot- 
land. Stanerigg had been tenanted by the Grays, 
father and son, for three generations, and their 
name was held in high honor for integrity and 
for skill in their own calling, Robert Gray being 
an authority in all agricultural matters. 

It was a pleasant family house, roomy, substan- 
tial, well cared for without and within. The liv- 
ing-room was furnished in polished mahogany of 
Chippendale date, and the sideboard adorned by 
a good deal of massive silver plate, kept in a high 
state of polish. Mrs. Gray gave a little sigh of 
content as she entered the room and sat down at 
the window. Her husband put down her basket, 
and sitting on the edge of the table, waited for 
her to speak. 

I thocht it better to leave nae ill word behind, 
an’ to see what was what, Robert ; an’ I hae seen. 
I keep naethin’ back. It was Bob Mary wrote 
aboot. He has cast in his lot wi’ evil-doers.” 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


23 


“ Has he ? ” Stanerigg spoke rather quietly, 
but the darkness gathered in his eyes. Then his 
wife, without varnish or preamble, told him the 
whole tale. A mother more indulgent and less 
just would have sought to gloss over the lad’s 
weakness; no such thought occurred to her. She 
knew her husband well — that he had no quarter 
for the evil-doer; but he was the lad’s father, and 
therefore entitled to know everything. He 
received it quietly, making no sign that he like- 
wise had received a fearful blow. 

He maun come hame, Lizbeth,” he said, 
“ an’ work on the land. Three months at the 
ploo an’ the harries wull maybe ca’ the devilry 
oot o’ him. Ye never saw him the day, then? ” 

She shook her head. 

‘^No; but he’ll come or write. Yes, you’re 
richt; he maun come hame. Ye were richt afore, 
faither; he should never ha’ gane awa’. It taks 
a special grace to be a minister. I see that in 
Neil Denham that wull never be in oor Bob. 
But the Lord kens I was fain to see him in His 
service.” 

She smiled wanly, and rose rather weakly to 
her feet. Now that she was home and had told 
her tale, her strength had gone away, even as it 
had gone the night before. She could not bear 
any more. 

” Faither, when he comes ye’ll be canny wi’ 


24 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


him,” she said, with a great wistfulness. “ He 
has been tempted, an’ maybe we set him oot 
ower-young, and withoot tellin’ him o’ the ill he 
micht meet.” 

He maun be made to feel the brunt o’t, Liz- 
beth,” he said, doggedly. “ I’ll think ower’t, 
but he maun come hame.” 

It did not occur to the man who would cheer- 
fully have given his own life for his wife any 
day, to offer her a word of sympathy or tender- 
ness to support her breaking heart. In this he 
did not greatly disappoint her, for she knew what 
to expect ; and when he passed out she went up 
to her own room, and, shutting the door, laid 
herself down on the bed. And with her face 
turned to the wall, she prayed until God answered 
her by sleep. Her night in Edinburgh had been 
quite sleepless ; now body and mind claimed 
some respite from the long strain put upon them. 
She was awakened by an unusual sound, and 
sprang up astonished to find her room in dark- 
ness, and puzzled for the moment to remember 
how she came to be lying on her bed in the day- 
time in her outdoor clothes. Her faithful house- 
girl, Ailie Dyer, had looked in twice in the course 
of the afternoon, feeling that something had gone 
seriously wrong to put her mistress so far out of 
her usual way. But finding her each time fast 
asleep, she had slipped away. The room was 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


25 


above the dining-room, and the sound which 
awakened Mrs. Gray was the raised tone of her 
husband’s voice. Instantly everything became 
clear to her. Bob had come home, and his father 
was calling him to task for his misdeeds. The 
instinct to protect her own son made her spring 
up, throw open the door, and run downstairs. 
Her dress was disarranged, her hair disheveled, 
her face flushed with sleep; but she could not 
wait to remedy these things. She knew the hot 
temper of both; perhaps even before she could 
intervene words might be spoken which would 
never be healed this side the grave. 

They were silent as she entered the room. 
Stanerigg stood upon the hearth-rug, and his 
hands were clasped behind his back. Bob leaned 
against the sideboard with his hands thrust indif- 
ferently into his pockets, his lips pursed into a 
defiant whistle. He winced at sight of his 
mother. 

He’s here, mother, an’ a bonny cauf he is,” 
observed Stanerigg, with the exceeding dryness 
of deep, still anger. ” Look at him. There’s no 
muckle sense o’ sin there. My lord thinks we’re 
makin’ a to-do aboot naething.” 

She looked from one to another pitifully, seeing 
the warring elements in both pitted against each 
other, and knowing how serious were the issues 
at stake. 


26 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


She stepped over and laid her hand with a 
lightly imploring touch on her husband’s arm, 

“ Leave him to me, faither, just a wee. I’m 
his mither. God teaches mithers whiles when 
He leaves ithers i’ the dark. Leave him to 
me. 

Stanerigg gave a little snort. He was a hard 
man, but his love for his one son had been a 
deep-seated, idolatrous affection, largely mingled 
with personal vanity and pride. He was fine- 
looking, and his gifts were certainly high, but 
most of all his father had boasted of his character 
and his uprightness of life, scoffing at the idea 
that student life was specially trying, and that 
temptations such as he did not dream of lie in 
wait for the unwary at every turn. So we judge 
harshly often where we do not know, and then 
the time comes when we would remedy our error, 
and that tenderly, but it is too late. 

“ Ye’ll stop at hame, my man, an’ try what the 
land can dae for ye,” he said, with grim decision. 

An’ ye’ll dae your day’s darg, yokin’ wi’ the 
rest at daylicht an’ workin’ till darkenin’. It’ll 
set ye a heap better nor playin’ cairds an’ drinkin’ 
whisky wi’ a set o’ idlers i’ the toon.” 

Having thus delivered himself, Stanerigg re- 
tired, dimly conscious in the midst of his bitter 
pain that his rebuke had made but small impres- 
sion, and that his wife possessed some secret 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


27 


knowledge which would make whatever word she 
might speak speed with power to the mark. 

“ He says I’m not to go back, mother,” burst 
out the lad immediately the door closed. ” He 
can’t mean it. I won’t stay here to work on the 
land like a common plowman. I won’t stay. 
I’ll emigrate or commit suicide first.” 

'' Wheesht, laddie ! ye speak foolishly, and it’ll 
no mend matters,” she said, quickly. “Ye ken 
your faither; he is just, but he is set in his judg- 
ment. Ye maun bide quietly and show a peni- 
tent spirit. Ye canna thraw in your faither; 
he’ll no stand it even frae his ain.” 

“But do you want me to give up? Why, 
look at the honors I’ve taken already. It would 
be a shame to let them all tie me down like a 
clodhopper here,” he cried, pushing his hot fin- 
gers through his curly fair hair. “ I won’t do it. 
Mother, you won’t let him condemn me to that.” 

She looked at him mournfully, in silence for a 
moment. There was no doubt in her mind that, 
so far as future ministerial work was concerned, 
his career was over. One who had so far gone 
astray was no fit guide for the souls of others. 
She was an innocent, and simple soul, but she had 
certain fixed ideas which would be difficult to set 
aside. One was that a minister should be a man 
set apart, of holier life and higher aims than the 
common. Bob could never attain to such a height 


28 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


now. She exaggerated, as was natural, his fall- 
ing away, and it seemed to her an insuperable 
barrier. 

But at the same time she did not think the 
farm the place for him. It had all come so sud- 
denly, there was no time to think or to arrange 
matters. Bob must not be in a hurry ; but youth 
cannot wait. 

“ Of course I know I’ve been idling a bit, and 
— well, not so steady as I ought to have been; 
but Denham has made the most of it. I’ll pull 
up, mother. Don’t look at me as if I were a 
hopeless renegade. It’s worse to bear than 
father’s rage, though that’s bad enough. You 
must persuade him to let me go on at least to the 
end of the session. I’ll go to the bad faster here 
at a plow-tail than I would in the town, I can tell 
you that.” 

Mrs. Gray was weary and perplexed, her heart 
sore to bursting, pitying the lad with all the 
tenderness of her motherly nature, yet feeling 
strongly that he was further away than ever from 
the grace which should sanctify a minister of 
Christ. Even common grace seemed to be some 
distance from him at the moment ; for it was 
quite evident that he thought lightly of his 
offense, and that they were making a needless 
fuss. She had a long talk far into the night with 
her husband, but he was as adamant where Bob’s 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


29 


return to college life was concerned. And in the 
end he had his way, and the lad took his share 
of the ordinary work on the farm, fretting his 
eager spirit against the dull routine of his life, 
chafing in rebellion not always hidden, and the 
winter wore miserably away. Stanerigg acted 
according to his light. He had no intention of 
ultimately obliging Bob to enter a calling so dis- 
tasteful to him, and he believed a few months on 
the fields would act as a wholesome discipline. 

There never had been a more miserable winter 
in Stanerigg. The atmosphere of the house, 
once so peaceable and wholesome and pleasant, 
was wholly changed. It told upon them all, but 
most of all upon Mrs. Gray, who became sad and 
old, worn and weary, with the constant strain to 
keep the peace between the boy and his father. 
There was absolutely no sympathy between them, 
and nobody knew, since he gave no sign, that the 
deep heart of Stanerigg yearned so unspeakably 
over his boy that many times he could have cried 
aloud in agony. But self-control, absolute re- 
pression of all feeling, had become second nature 
to him, and he preserved the stony silence which 
covered an aching heart. So the dreary days 
wore on till the voice of spring began to be heard 
in the land, soft winds whispering of hope stirred 
the budding boughs, and the green blades shot 
up to meet the kindly benediction of an April 


30 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


sky. And at that heavenly season, which brings 
some sense of comfort even to the most stricken 
in heart, the final desolation fell upon Stanerigg. 

Very early in the morning, before even the 
sleepy birds were stirring, when the mystery of 
the dawn still lay holily upon the earth. Bob 
Gray stole away from the house of his earthly 
father, never to come back. They slept heavily 
in that healthy and hard-working household, and 
his stealthy exodus was unheard by any, even in 
their dreams. He stood still outside the door, 
and looking up to the room where his mother lay 
asleep, bared his head. He was nearer to heaven 
at that moment than he had yet been, and he 
even took a step toward the door. But some 
harsher thought restrained him, and he essayed 
to go, only pausing ere he passed by the gable 
to pluck a green sprig from the ivy which his 
mother’s hand had planted, and which, flourish- 
ing as everything did under her kindly guidance, 
had become a great tree, clothing the gray old 
house with a green and living beauty refreshing 
to every eye which beheld it. 

And when they woke and came one by one to 
the duties of the new day, he was far on his way, 
having before him that wondrous land across the 
seas which has beckoned many, but has given too 
often a stone to those who asked for bread. 

But when will youth accept hearsay? It is 


A IVASTREL REDEEMED 


31 


personal knowledge and experience it craves and 
will have, at any cost. 

Having in his heart love, deep-buried, but 
warm and true, he did not leave them wholly in 
the dark, but left his mother a letter, simply say- 
ing he was sick to death of his life, and not being 
able to support it any longer, had gone off to 
America, thus fulfilling the threat to emigrate 
which he had often made. He also said he would 
write if he got on, and that was all. 

It is not for me to expatiate upon the feelings 
of the parents thus bereft; those who have suf- 
fered in a like manner will enter into their full 
bitterness. Gladly would both have laid down 
their lives for their one son, yet somehow in their 
dealing with him they had missed the way. 

# # * * # 

For two years nothing further was heard of 
Bob Gray. The heartsickness of hope deferred 
left its mark on these two; but it was a blessed 
outcome of their sorrow, too deep and terrible to 
be shared with any outsider, that they drew 
nearer to each other and began to understand 
each other as they had not done in all the five 
and twenty years of their married life. They did 
not sit down helplessly, or neglect the daily con- 
cerns which press even when the heart is break- 
ing. Indeed, so little visible sign was given that 


32 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


many said they felt it but little, and were glad 
for their credit’s sake to be rid of the wastrel. 

One day in the second spring after he had 
gone away, the first and last news of the wan- 
derer came to Stanerigg, brought by the old one- 
eyed postman, Willie Chisholm, who had often 
wondered whether he would be privileged to bear 
some message from across the seas to the desolate 
home. 

He did not see the mistress that day, to his 
keen disappointment, and it was Ailie Dyer who 
took in the little package and the letter bearing 
the stamp of the Republic. Her mistress took 
them tremblingly, and sat down at the open win- 
dow, fumbling in her pocket for her spectacle- 
case, which was a new possession to which she 
had hardly yet got accustomed. And it happened 
that at the moment Stanerigg himself came in, 
and she bade him falteringly shut the door. 

“ The news has come, an’ it’s no Bob’s writing. 
I’m feart to open it Tak the letter first, faither.” 

He took it from her, and, quite unconscious of 
what he was doing, knelt down beside her so that 
he could open the letter at her knee. And they 
made a pathetic picture, the father and mother 
whom grief had aged before their time, the soft 
April wind playing with their gray hairs and 
cooling the flush of excitement on their cheeks. 
It was a short letter written by the clergyman of 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


33 


a Methodist church in a little township situate 
among the distant wheat-prairies of Iowa, and it 
ran thus : 

“ Carterville, March 30th. 

“ Madam : It is my sad duty to write to you 
concerning your son, Robert Gray, whom I was 
called a long distance to see yesterday, only to 
find him dying of a severe attack of inflammation 
of the lungs, contracted through exposure in one 
of the most terrible blizzards we have had for 
many years. I had not met or heard of him be- 
fore, as the place where he has been working as 
hired man is thirteen miles from my manse, and 
difficult of access. It seems he had been there 
for about ten months, working for a decent, well- 
to-do German Jew, to whom he has given the 
greatest satisfaction, being sober, industrious, and 
of an amiable disposition. I was grieved to find 
him too weak to say much, but he was able to 
tell me a little about himself, and to instruct me 
to carry out his last wishes. He had been wan- 
dering about a good deal, as young men must do 
out here without introduction or acquaintance; 
but so far as I could gather, he had never been 
in any sore straits, though sometimes in rather 
low water. I was surprised to find him possessed 
of a university training, though, indeed, I have 
met many similar instances. He did not detail 
to me his reasons for having left a home so com- 


34 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


fortable and happy, and the memory of which he 
cherished so passionately that I was quite over- 
come. One thing you may take to comfort you : 
that he has not been living a prodigal’s life out 
here, but the reverse. He was reserved about 
his own state of mind, but told me quite frankly 
he had no fear of death. He asked me to send 
you the inclosed package, which I have not 
opened, but which he told me he had carried 
within his vest next his heart during the last two 
years. I remained with him till his death, which 
was painless and beautiful, and I feel sure that 
you may with the utmost confidence look forward 
to a happy reunion in a world where these sor- 
rows are unknown. I regret that my letter must 
of necessity be meager and unsatisfactory, as I 
only saw him once. He has been buried in a 
little cemetery not far from the farm on which he 
died. His employer defrayed the whole ex- 
penses, and all the neighbors turned out, showing 
that he was a general favorite. If there is any- 
thing further you would like to know, pray write, 
and I shall do my best to reply. Meantime, with 
sincere Christian sympathy, I remain, madam, 
Yours faithfully, 

“ Abiram Morse.’* 

They were able to read the letter through with 
that wondrous self-control which had distin- 


A WASTREL REDEEMED 


35 


guished them throughout, and to untie the string 
and cut the wrappings which held their boy’s 
legacy to them. 

There was no letter. Within lay a little New 
Testament with brass clasps which his mother had 
given him on the day he first went to church. 
The clasps were intact, but would not close over 
something bulky within — a thick roll of American 
dollar bills. They fell out upon her lap, and then 
the book seemed to open naturally where lay the 
sprig of ivy, now dry and faded, which had once 
been living green on the gable end of Stanerigg. 
On that open page two passages were deeply 
underlined — a message from the unseen to those 
who had now no child : 

“ Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not 
redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and 
gold ; . . . but with the precious blood of Christ, 
as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.” 

And again : “ Behold, we count them happy 
which endure. . . . The Lord is very pitiful, and 
of tender mercy.” 

By what tortuous ways that wandering soul 
had returned to the fold they would never know ; 
and though the hand of God seemed heavy upon 
them, they were not without their crumbs of 
comfort. Stanerigg bowed his head, now so 
nearly white, on his wife’s knee, and a great sob- 
bing shook him, like the wind of winter in the 


36 


A IV A ST RE L REDEEMED 


trees. But she sat still and quiet, with a wonder- 
ing and deep light in her meek, sweet eyes, con- 
scious for the moment that the veil between the 
seen and the unseen was so thin that her sharp- 
ened vision could almost pierce it Her life 
during the past two years had been one long 
prayer, and lo ! the sore travail of her soul had its 
answer — her boy was safe. Being thus assured, 
she could wait for Daybreak and the light of 
heaven. 

So, tranquilly, she is waiting still. 




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